


Aunt Charlie

by Vengeful_Vulpix



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Gen, Maxwell is kind of a drama queen, My first DS fic, Post-Constant, References to Smoking, There MIGHT be a timeline here?????, out of character maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 04:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vengeful_Vulpix/pseuds/Vengeful_Vulpix
Summary: "Tell me about Aunt Charlie."The monotonous command was so quiet, so sudden, Maxwell froze. Wendy very rarely asked about Charlie, if ever. It seemed like she could sense the bad emotions her uncle had tied with the name itself, much like Wendy could sense her sister's presence."...What do you want to know about her?"





	Aunt Charlie

"Tell me about Aunt Charlie."  
The monotonous command was so quiet, so sudden, Maxwell froze whilst combing his niece's hair, processing her question. Wendy very rarely asked about Charlie, if ever. It seemed she could sense the bad emotions her uncle had tied with the name itself, much like Wendy could sense her sister's presence.  
"...What do you want to know about her?"  
Maxwell finally asked in return, tying off Wendy's hair into messy braids. Despite being so small and sickly, Wendy had a full head of thick, wavy hair, just like her father, Maxwell's late older brother. Since becoming Wendy's legal guardian, Maxwell had to braid her hair every day before she attended school. It was far too long to leave down, yet Wendy refused to let anyone cut it. Now, in the afternoon, he had to re-do the braid, as Wendy's hair was both thick AND unruly.  
Wendy didn't age during her stay in the Constant, none of them did. Maxwell believed it to be some form of curse, so no one could permanently die there. Being trapped there for what felt like years, then having to go back to their normal lives like nothing had happened, was difficult for everyone. Wendy went back to school, Maxwell had to pick up a new job. Helping at the library Wickerbottom also worked at wasn't a half-bad gig, though. Learning about 1950's technology when the last new thing he'd seen was Cornflakes was a struggle for Maxwell, though.  
"I never met her, Uncle William. I want to know the 'appeal'."  
Maxwell snorted at Wendy's sarcastic 'appeal', knowing Wendy heard him and the rest of the survivors often refer to the darkness itself as 'Charlie'. Curses like "Goddamnit, Charlie!" and others, especially Wilson, coming back from the dead, always had a story, an excuse, on how and why Charlie had ended their life. Details like that flew right over Maxwell's head, but Wendy was a very observational child. Had to be, technically, in order to be the Medium that she was.  
Maxwell was silent for a moment. He tapped his chin in thought, then promptly grabbed his walking cane, which was leaned on the sofa beforehand, and hobbled towards the large bookshelf in the living room. He skimmed his fingers over the book's spines, not being able to read them from a comfortable distance anymore (he hadn't seen an eye doctor since before the Constant and wasn't going to anytime soon), eventually finding the correct one and plucking it out and dusting it off. He walked back over to the sofa and gently handed the book to Wendy, who had moved to the couch from her previous position of crisscross on the carpet. She gave her uncle a blank look before opening the heavy book to the first page, only then realizing it was a photo album. The first photo was of a tall, tall man in wire-frame glasses and a pinstripe suit. With him stood a younger lady, who barely reached to the height of this man's shoulders. She had lovely short hair and wore a flowing white summer-dress. They were both smiling, though the women's smile almost seemed forced.  
"Is that you, Uncle William?" Wendy asked, head gesturing slightly to the man in the photo. Maxwell nodded, unnecessarily pointing at himself with a talon that served as his index finger.  
"That was me and that was Charlie, about...1905, I'd say." Maxwell explained, wiping a thin layer of dust off the page itself, trying to remember how long it had been since he'd TOUCHED this book. Twenty, thirty years?  
"Charlie looks like that one actor. With the pretty hair. The one that smokes like you." Wendy commented, snapping Maxwell out of his thoughts, waving her arms slightly as she tried to explain the person she was thinking of.  
"Hmm...Audrey Hepburn? Yes, I suppose you're correct. Though, Charlie never smoked." Maxwell replied contemplatively, recalling how Charlie would fuss at him whenever he'd subconsciously pull a cigar out of his pocket. He snorted with laughter at the thought of her tapping her foot, arms crossed, as she refused to speak with him until he finished his smoking.  
Maxwell came back from his mind when he noticed Wendy turn the page, to a photo of Charlie, in a long red dress. Wendy realized it was a painting, then. The colors were so vibrant, yet Charlie's face and skin looked so life-like. Wendy looked at her uncle, silently asking who painted it.  
"...Wes. He was a fine good artist, before he lost his voice, home, family...savings…" Wendy glared at Maxwell's nonchalant response, knowing he had something to do with all of that, and HE knew he had something to with that.  
"Charlie related to the little mime a lot, really. She didn't talk much either, you know. Bad hearing, made her self-conscious of her voice." Maxwell added, sighing quietly.  
"Despite it, her voice was beautiful. Sometimes, when she'd clean around the house, she'd hum or sing little songs she'd make up, and oh, it was so wonderful..."  
Maxwell's voice trailed off. He slowly stood up, holding the back of his hand up to one of his eyes, and quickly walked out of the room. This happened more times than Wendy could count. Her uncle would reminisce, get caught up in the past, and he would cry. Being the only man who had come from the Constant who still acted like he had dignity, he'd promptly leave to his room to sulk the rest of the night. Like people with dignity often do.  
Wendy walked to the kitchen, pulled a chair up in order to reach the kitchen counter, and dialed a number she knew well.  
"Miss Winona?"  
_"Yes, Wendy?"_  
Winona didn't have to ask who it was. Wendy was the only person to ever call from that line anymore; Charlie was gone, and Maxwell sure as Hell would never call his almost sister-in-law.  
"Uncle William is crying again. May I stay with you tonight?"  
_"'Course, kiddo. I'll be right there."_  
Wendy jumped off the chair, pushed it back in its original position, by the table. Wendy quickly got to work; she got ham and cheese out of the ice-box, bread out of the bread-box, quickly made a sandwich out of said ingredients. She wrapped it in tin-foil and set it on the kitchen table with a small note for her uncle; that A. The sandwich was for him, and B. She was with Winona and was most certainly not kidnapped. She had just gotten done when she heard a loud knocking on the door. Winona opened it slightly, peeking through to make sure Maxwell wasn't in the general vicinity, then opened the door completely. Winona was still in her work-clothes, though Wendy believed she never STOPPED working.  
"Ready to go?" The engineer asked, holding a gloved hand out to her almost niece. Wendy nodded, skipping along to Winona's long strides. As they walked down the paved street, to Winona's house, Wendy asked her a sudden question.  
"Tell me about Aunt Charlie."

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote all this in a caffeine-educed power trip at 11 pm thank you for reading god bless


End file.
